


Take Me Like a Breath

by Siavahda



Category: Mortal Instruments Series - Cassandra Clare
Genre: Dom/sub, F/M, Praise Kink, Relationship Negotiation, Service Submission
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-12-15
Updated: 2015-12-15
Packaged: 2018-05-06 23:01:40
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,014
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5434088
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Siavahda/pseuds/Siavahda
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Jace kisses her, but he doesn't want to.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Take Me Like a Breath

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Vintage_Android](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Vintage_Android/gifts).



> The idea for this was kickstarted by [this gif from the tv show](http://siavahdainthemoon.tumblr.com/post/135254139607), and you can read my tags at the link for more about my thought process. But basically Jace is a total submissive, and I will fight anyone who says otherwise, and this is how the Greenhouse Scene _would_ have gone if Clary was a bit older and more experienced. I hope you like it.

Jace kisses her, but he doesn’t want to.

He is wound so tight with wanting her touch that his veins tremble beneath his skin like plucked harp-strings. Her eyes flash and he wants her to burn him, aches to lose himself in the flames of her hair, but that’s not something he can have. It’s not even something he should want. He’s known that since the first time a girl leaned in with her chin up and paused there, waiting, expectant and pointed as a blade, and he realized he had to move first.

He’s learned to enjoy it. Learned to give them what they want without ever making them ask, following the orders they never give, shaping himself into what they want and letting them use him to fulfil their fantasies.  He uses his lips and his hands and his body to serve their delight, and if they don’t know he’s waiting on them with every gesture it doesn’t matter. It’s enough.

They’re in the greenhouse, and he’s shaking beneath the skin, and he leans in to kiss her because it’s the only way he can be touched by her—

And she meets him in the middle.

Her lips touch his, find his, _take_ his and he comes undone beneath the pressure of her mouth. Her hand curls around the back of his neck and he dissolves, his bones liquefy, he melts into her without thinking and the sweep of her tongue on his lip spells her approval and that, her wordless praise, spills down his spine in a sweep of molten heat. He moans softly into her mouth, stunned by the fireworks bursting behind his eyes and between his thighs, and feels her smile.

The fingers of her free hand slip through his belt loop and tug, and the possessive gesture jolts through him, shocks another, deeper moan out of him, helpless and wanting, and if she were a cat she’d be purring.

“Good boy,” she murmurs, brushing her lips over his. He shivers, outside, where she can see and feel it. Her voice is like heated silk against his skin and the words pound in him like a heart, life-giving, necessary, integral. They paint themselves in gold on the backs of his eyelids and he thinks he would walk into fire to hear them again. “Are you always this sweet, Jace?”

He swallows. “Only for redheads,” he says hoarsely, recovering himself. Somewhat.

He waits for her to laugh, but she doesn’t; her eyebrows arc like sunrises above her eyes instead, unimpressed. It makes something in him wither, ashamed of the quip, and when she pulls her hand from his neck he has to close his eyes at how much it hurts: shocking, terrible. Rejected.

He makes to pull away before she can—but her fingers close around his chin and he startles, looks down at her and feels himself caught again, dragged helplessly, so willingly, into the glorious undertow of her eyes.

“No,” she says softly. “No jokes. I’m serious.” Slowly, watching him all the while, her thumb sweeps softly over his lower lip; he inhales sharply, fire blossoming orchid-like in the pit of his stomach. “Do you like this?”

He wants to taste her skin. Suck her thumb into his mouth. With effort, he does neither. “What _is_ this?”

“Me,” she says simply, “owning you.” Her thumb reaches the corner of his lips, and keeps going. Over his jaw. Down his throat. Jace shudders, whimpers when she presses gently at the hollow of his throat. “I think you’re a submissive, Jace. And I’d like to be your Domme.”

_Owning you. Owning you_. He can hardly hear anything else for the roar in his ears. They’ve barely kissed but he’s never felt like this in his life, seared, gilded, soft like warm honey everywhere but between his legs. He wants to sway forward into her thumbprint at his throat. He needs her to kiss him like that again.

“I don’t know what that means,” he says quietly. But he wants to. By the Angel, he wants to.

Her smile hits him like a dagger to the chest; totaling, all-encompassing. “It means you give yourself to me,” she says, softly, “and I take care of you.”

She keeps talking, explaining, but he doesn’t need to hear the rest. He can’t believe what he’s hearing, feeling, but it feels like a gift from the Angel he doesn’t believe in. He wants to give himself into Clary’s small, soft hands more than anything, serve her and kneel for her and be whatever she wants him to be.

_And she wants that too._

“I already did,” he says, fervent and shivering and melting with how good it feels. Her hand curls loosely around his neck, and his eyes fall closed, swaying a little into her grip. She tightens it, just a little, and his pulse kisses her fingertips over and over. “From the first moment I saw you, Clary, I have belonged to you completely.” His breath hitches. “But I never expected...”

“…that I’d take you? Oh, Jace.” Sympathy softens her voice. “Of course I would. How could I not? You’re _perfect.”_

His eyes are still closed when her lips graze his again, light and soft but possessive and pleased, and Jace’s knees go weak with wanting.

“So sweet for me,” Clary murmurs. “Such a good boy, Jace. I’m so proud of you for being honest with me. I bet that was hard.” She lets go of his neck to stroke his cheek, cradle him against her palm, and he turns into the touch without thinking. “But it’s all right. You’re mine now. I’ll take care of you.”

_She could do anything with me,_ Jace thinks, almost dizzy with it, _and I would let her_. It terrifies him. It thrills him. It sets him free.

She kisses him, and this time he opens for her, and shudders as she takes him like a breath, takes him until the only word he has is

_Yours_.

By the time she’s done, he has no words at all.


End file.
